


I'm lovin' it

by youaremarvelous



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Tumblr Drabbles [22]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, yurio and his terrible horrible no good very bad crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 20:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: When Viktor's away, Yurio will....make an awkward attempt at comforting Yuuri by blackmailing him into a McDonald's date.As much as the Yuri in Yuri’s head is uniquely genial in Yuuri’s presence, wooing him with his full head of hair and disaffected attitude, the sad fact is that when they’re together, the landscape of their interactions tends more towards oceans of frothy silence islanded by talks about skating or—more annoyingly—Viktor.Yuri takes an angry, overly-large bite of his Big Mac. He can hear his jaw creak over the quiet of Yuuri shredding a napkin between his trembling fingers, speckling his tray with fibrous flurries.





	I'm lovin' it

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt, [“You had a business trip and I missed you so much that I kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety… sorry?”](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/173781350483/101-fluffy-prompts)

They’re two hours into Yuri’s new FS practice when Yuuri rubs a knuckle into his eye, yawns for the tenth time in as many minutes. Yuri stops mid-routine and plants his hands on his hips. The music tilts around him, a rumbling Rachmaninoff crescendo that pulls at his limbs like a puppet on a string. Yuri rolls it off his shoulders and skates to the boards, blades cutting across the ice against the beat—angry and insistent. **  
**

 

It’s not that he cares about Yuuri’s milk-white pallor, his posture crumpled as a ball of paper. He’s not Lilia, for god’s sake, and he’s sure as hell not planning to tiptoe around him, prodding him with leading questions until Yuuri melts through his layers of pride and private fits of panic. That’s something Viktor would do— _does_ , publicly and with nauseating regularity.

 

Yuri isn’t interested in subtlety. He’s flashy colors and gaudy animal prints, balled fists and a voice like lightning. He’s noticeable by design, and it’s insulting the way Yuuri watches him now, eyes blank as fresh snow, concentration rooted somewhere Yuri can’t penetrate.

 

Yuuri startles when Yuri reaches him, wrenches the guards from his hands without explanation. Yuuri catches himself with one hand on the boards and follows Yuri’s trajectory with his eyes, mouth turned down at the corner like a comma. “Everything okay?”

 

“You tell me, you’re the one skipping practice.”

 

Yuuri’s face blurs behind explanations before resolving again with a hand in his hair, a tired sigh. “Right.” He doesn’t sit so much as collapse next to Yuri on the bleachers. “You’re right. Sorry.”

 

Yuri exhales from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. “When’ll he be back?”

 

“Two days.”

 

“Have you told him you’re not sleeping?”

 

Yuuri leans his elbows onto his knees, presses his face into his hands. “I don’t want to worry him.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” Yuri says, catching a comment about how it’s apparently fine to worry  _him_  on the tip of his tongue, swallowing it down like a burning coal.

 

“Yeah. But don’t tell Viktor, okay?”

 

“That you’re an idiot? I’m sure he’s already aware. Takes one to know one.”

 

Yuuri makes a noise that’s probably meant to be a laugh but sounds like his throat cracking in half. “Promise me?”

 

“I’ll keep your fucking promise.”

 

“Thanks,” Yuuri says, strained, as though a pair of invisible hands is clenched around his neck.

 

“For a Quarter Pounder with Cheese.”

 

“Yurio…”

 

“And fries. And a McFlurry.”

 

Yuuri folds his lips together, raises his eyebrows to his hairline like he always does when he’s deciding how to convert an uncomfortable thought into spoken language.

 

“Wow, how did my phone get in my hand?’ Yuri makes a show of taking his phone from his leopard print duffel, waving it around in the air.

 

“Yurio.”

 

He unlocks the screen, taps the contacts open with his thumb. “And opened to Viktor’s contact.”

 

“Yurio!”

 

“Would be a real shame if my finger slipped.”

 

“Fine—” Yuuri grabs Yuri by the wrist, eyes wide and wild, seeing nothing but the phone screen, an uncharacteristically unflattering candid photo of Viktor with a poorly-edited bald head. “We can go to McDonald’s.”

 

Yuri jerks his arm out of Yuuri’s damp grip, only mildly annoyed that he had to resort to blackmail to get Yuuri to spend more time with him. The annoyance is redoubled when Yuuri clamps down immediately after, answering Yuri’s pathetic attempts at conversation with absent nods, distracted hums.   

 

As much as the Yuri in Yuri’s head is uniquely genial in Yuuri’s presence, wooing him with his full head of hair and disaffected attitude, the sad fact is that when they’re together, the landscape of their interactions tends more towards oceans of frothy silence islanded by talks about skating or—more annoyingly—Viktor.  

 

Yuri takes an angry, overly-large bite of his Big Mac. He can hear his jaw creak over the quiet of Yuuri shredding a napkin between his trembling fingers, speckling his tray with fibrous flurries.

 

“Eat my fries,” Yuri says through a mouthful of food. He means to word it as an offer rather than a demand, but Yuuri plucks up a fry, anyway. He bites off the crispy tip before mashing it between thumb and forefinger, abandoning it on a bed of cottony napkin pieces.

 

Yuri slams his hands on the table, patience dried up like the shallow pool of his conversation topics. He’s not a goddamn therapist, and he’s done pussyfooting around, carefully sidestepping the minefield of Yuuri’s anxiety.

 

“You can’t fall apart every time he’s out of town.”

 

Yuuri meets his eyes. He shreds his teeth over his bottom lip, his mind over his thoughts. “I know.”

 

“It’s not like he’s gone for good.”

 

Yuuri visibly swallows. The ugly fluorescent lights carve out his doubt—the purple bruises smudged under his eyes, the fine capillaries tangling his irises in webs of ruby red.

 

“And even if he was, I’m here.” Yuri watches Yuuri for some kind of acknowledgment, curls his fingers into a fist when there is none. “And Yakov. Lilia. Mila…Facetime is a fucking thing. Call someone. Don’t just…” Yuri throws out his hand, gestures vaguely at Yuuri.

 

Slowly, Yuuri bows his head. “You’re right,” he says, dragging a flimsy smile to his lips. “Thanks.”

 

Yuri picks up his burger, stuffs a quarter of it into his mouth. “Fucking idiot.”

 

Yuri kicks every pebble on the sidewalk up to his flat on the way home. He pulls out his phone when the silhouette of his building blooms out of the darkness, glares at the murky sky when he blindly pushes the call button on Viktor’s contact.

 

“Yurio? Is everything oka—”

 

“Call your fucking boyfriend.”

 

Viktor pauses. Yuri can’t see him, but he can feel the shit-eating smile, the teasing half-lidded eyes, searing out his sinuses.

 

“Husband.”

 

“Whatever,” Yuri spits, already moving his thumb to end the call, “just fucking call him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [here](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/175412740453/069-or-025-for-the-writing-prompts-thanks)


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